Chapter 3
The pieces fell into place with a sickening thud. “You faked her death.”
He nodded, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “We used the records from an unidentified victim in the same crash. I paid off a morgue attendant. My parents held a funeral for an empty casket. They grieved. They moved on. And I took Colleen with me.”
For years, she lived in a small apartment two states over. Rodney supported her with a second job he’d told me was freelance consulting.
Then, four years ago, her agoraphobia got worse. She couldn’t even handle going to the grocery store.
“So when we bought this house,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “I saw the basement. It had a separate water line. Nobody had been down there in years. It was perfect.”
While I was busy picking out paint colors for the nursery, he was secretly building a life for his sister beneath our feet.
The “mold problem” was an excuse to keep me and the kids out. The window that was “painted shut” was part of a special, quiet ventilation system he’d installed for her. It wasn’t an escape route. The police had forced it open.
The intruder wasn’t an intruder. It was Colleen. She had gotten brave. Heard the house was empty and decided to walk around. Tamra’s cleaning noises must have sent her running back to safety.
I just stared at him. The man I loved was not a cheater. He was a liar on a scale I couldn’t comprehend, but he did it all to protect his sister.
The officer came back in. “Time’s up. Sir, what is going on?”
I stood up before Rodney could. “There’s been a misunderstanding, officer,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “My husband’s sister is staying with us. She has severe anxiety. You being here has frightened her.”
Mark frowned. “His sister? Why wasn’t that mentioned?”
I looked at Rodney, giving him a look that said, `follow my lead`. “It’s a private family matter. She came in through the back and went to her room to rest. She didn’t know a cleaner was scheduled. It was a simple mix-up.”
It was a flimsy story. But looking at my tear-stained face, and Rodney’s shattered expression, and sweet Tamra standing there looking like she’d witnessed a family fall apart, the officer must have decided it wasn’t worth the paperwork.
He gave us a long, hard look. “Alright. But if we get another call like this…”
“You won’t,” I promised.
He and his partner left. The flashing lights disappeared down the street. The silence they left behind was deafening.
I looked at Tamra, who hadn’t moved an inch.
“I am so sorry,” I said. “You were just doing your job.”
She gave me a small, sad smile. “Is… is she okay? The person upstairs?”
I nodded. “She’s just scared.”
“I’m a nursing student,” she said softly. “Third year. My focus is psych and trauma care. If you… if you ever need anything. Even just someone to talk to. I live four streets over.”
She handed me the key. When our hands touched, it felt like an offering.
That night, I didn’t sleep in our bed. I slept on the couch. I wasn’t angry. I was… adrift. Floating in the ruins of the life I thought I had.
The next morning, Rodney found me in the kitchen, staring into a cold cup of coffee.
“Can I show you?” he asked.
I just nodded.
He led me to the hall closet, the one filled with old coats and board games. He pushed the coats aside. At the back of the closet, there was no wall. There was a door, painted and textured to look exactly like the plaster around it.
He opened it, revealing a narrow, steep staircase.
The air that came up was clean and warm. It didn’t smell like mold or damp. It smelled like lavender and books.
As we walked down, my hand on the smooth, finished railing, the space opened up. It wasn’t a basement. It was a studio apartment.
There were bookshelves filled to bursting. A comfortable-looking armchair under a sunlamp. Framed prints on the walls. A small, neat kitchenette. A single bed, made up with a beautiful quilt.
And sitting at a small desk, sketching in a notebook, was a woman with Rodney’s eyes.
She looked up, saw me, and her face went pale with fear. She shrank back a little in her chair.
“Colleen,” Rodney said gently. “This is my wife, Sarah. The one I told you about.”
She looked at me, then at Rodney, then back at me. She looked like a frightened deer.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thin from disuse. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I thought no one was home.”
